


Ghosts

by Shyspyder



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: (mostly from me), Angst, Crying, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, POV Theon Greyjoy, Reunion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-23
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2020-01-24 16:00:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,363
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18574810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shyspyder/pseuds/Shyspyder
Summary: Theon had longed to see Sansa from the moment he left.





	Ghosts

**Author's Note:**

> I know that Theon's chances of survival are hovering at like 2%, so I needed to get this one out before next Sunday. I just love them so much @D&D can you pls for once not be shitty.

When Theon Greyjoy finally arrived in Winterfell, he was numb to the bone. 

And it was not because of the bitter cold that snapped at his skin, or the wind that blew in every which direction. 

It was because the last time he had been here, he had been the shell of a man. In truth, there were no words to describe. Everything had been taken from him, chewed up and spit out by the cruel Gods of his ancestors. Flayed by the Boltons until there was nothing left to take away. And even then, it was less then he deserved, for the crimes he had committed against the people who raised him. 

It was all he could do to keep moving forward through the kingsroad, his sister’s men beside him. Because they were, after all, never truly his own. He may have earned their respect that day he pledged to rescue Yara from their uncle, but Theon was the one who chose to go north. They only chose to follow. But they never complained. Gone were the taunts of his cowardliness, of how he lost Winterfell and got his cock chopped off and how he jumped ship when his sister was taken. He was not redeemed. He could never be redeemed. But he was a Greyjoy, and he was a Stark. And if the world was going to end anyway, he was not going to let that half of him burn while watching from afar. 

They stepped through the gates with little argument from the northern guards. Around him, lords and ladies and smallfolk alike were rushing back and forth, preparing for the war that was to come. Only few seemed to take notice of him, and even then they were only casting curious glances at the kraken sigils on their armor, rather then glares of disgust at the man wearing it. Theon realized that it wasn’t him they were noticing. More then that, it wasn’t the same him they knew. He remembered how the smallfolk looked at him, back when he was Reek. He remembered the mixture of pity and scorn, for he was still the one who burned those boys all those years ago. 

It was only because of Sansa that he escaped that version of himself. 

Sansa. 

He knew he could never pay for the crimes he had committed against her family. He had told her himself, warned her that there was no place for him at the wall. No forgiveness to be had. 

And he had missed her. Back at Dragonstone, Jon had told him that she was safe. Ramsay Bolton eaten by his own dogs, and Sansa Stark ruling her ancestral home. But still, he had longed to see her once more. She was the only one who could ever understand what he had been like. To have gone through the same thing, knowing that there was no escape. 

But they had escaped. Against all odds, Sansa had brought out the last bit of light left in him. 

He would have rotted there, and he would have deserved it.

“I’m here to see Queen Daenerys,” he said to the guards. “I bring news from Queen Yara Greyjoy.” The words felt bitter on his tongue. It wasn’t Daenerys he wanted to see. But he had no reason to say anything else to the Queensguard. 

The guard didn’t say anything. He looked at him with that same grim look in his eye. The sort that had seen too much for one lifetime. He nodded his head, and turned towards Maester Wolkan. Theon felt himself freeze as the old Maester looked back at him, the familiar look of pity in his eyes. He remembered the Boltons too well, after all. 

He led the Theon and the Ironborn through the same towards that he had grown up in, the same halls he had played with Robb and Jon, pretending they were knights and kings. He swallowed the lump in his throat. No matter how he got around it, there would always be ghosts here to greet him. 

They were brought into empty chambers, left to wait amongst themselves. As he turned towards the rest of the Ironborn, he could hear the Maester speaking to the Queen, letting her that he had arrived. He turned around when they entered, only for the air to leave his lungs as if someone had punched him. 

Sansa. 

She was dressed in black, her hair done the same as her mother’s. Her eyes brimmed with tears the moment she met his own. He wanted to stare back at them for as long as he could, but he could feel the presence of his Queen beside her, her face too a mask of surprise. Reluctantly, he tore his gaze away, stepping forward on one knee. 

“My Queen,” he practically whispered. 

She narrowed her eyes and tilted her head, surprise still lighting her face. “Your sister?”

Theon nodded. “She only has a few ships and she couldn’t sail them here. So, she’s sailing to the Iron Islands instead. To take them back in your name.”

“But why aren’t you with her?”

His eyes flickered to the ground for a split second, before turned back up towards Sansa. He could see the tears in her eyes more clearly now, the way she swallowed back the lump in her throat.

“...I want to fight for Winterfell Lady Sansa...if you’ll have me.” He said the last part with the slightest bit of hopelessness in his voice. The last time he had seen her, after all, was during some of the worst moments of their life. Perhaps she never wanted to see him again. Perhaps she, like her brother, had only let him live because he had helped her at all. 

Any doubts in his mind vanished in an instant as he felt her rush forward, collapsing into him. He wrapped his arms around her too, squeezing his eyes shut as he felt her burrow her nose into his shoulder, weeping. He wanted to do the same, to tell her how much he missed her and how he thought about her every day since he left her with Brienne. But he could feel Daenerys and the Ironborns’ curious eyes on them. 

“Your grace” he heard the low voice of one of his men in the background, but it was muted with the constant buzzing in his ears, the feeling of Sansa’s body against his own and the sound of her breaths in his ear. Faintly, there was the sound of feet against the floor as they, one by one, left them alone. 

Queen Daenerys was the last to leave. He could feel in the floorboards as she paused for a moment, possibly looking back at them one last time, before clicking the door shut. As soon as the room had been abandoned, he felt Sansa pull away.

“You’re alright,” he whispered. “You’re alright.” It was all he could say. He wanted to say more, but any other words choked in his throat, strained against the lump that he couldn’t swallow down. 

“Theon…” He felt her push the hair back from his eyes, looking into them with her own, cheeks stained with tears. “You came back.” 

Hearing her voice and feeling the warmth of her skin against his seemed to trigger something in him, pushing at all the words he couldn’t say before. “I thought about you every day, prayed to every God I knew to keep you safe.” 

“You were the one who kept me safe.” 

He closed his eyes as she wrapped her arms around him once more, pulling him closer. Once, he had told her that he was willing to die to bring her to safety, to bring her to the wall and her brother. Later, he was determined to die for her once more. To die defending Winterfell and the home he once knew. But for the first time, when he looked at her he wanted to live. He wanted them both to live. He wanted to see what they would become, and to let the Gods smile down at them for the first time in their lives.

**Author's Note:**

> Main Tumblr: @intertiaspider  
> Writeblr: @amcgoldrick  
> Twitter: @mcgoldrickavery


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